Staring Into the Abyss
by Bain Sidhe
Summary: Jane McKinnon was frozen against her will by Vault-Tec, the company she trusted to keep her family safe from the bombs. Instead, she woke up two hundred years later and found herself in a nightmare. To find the men who killed her husband and kidnapped her son, she must do things she never imagined to survive. But in fighting monsters, she must take care not to become one herself...
1. Into the Wasteland

**A/N:** **Finally, I've written a fic for a universe that isn't already five years old! Yay me! This will be a quite dark take on the events of Fallout 4. I've abridged, rearranged, and changed the canon events of the main story to fit my narrative needs; the basic plot will mostly remain, but details will be different as I require them to be, so this isn't just going to be a rewrite of the story. As I said, this is a dark story, so take note accordingly; there will be quite a bit of violence, and implied/threatened sexual assault. There is a graphic scene of violence with sexual undertones in this chapter, so if such things are disturbing for you to read, please take note and proceed accordingly.**

 **Reviews are greatly appreciated! Please let me know what you think! I have a tentative outline for this story, and hope to proceed with it fairly regularly, as I have another full length fic I am in the middle of writing, but this story would not get itself out of my head until I wrote it, so... enjoy!**

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The sky was the color of bile, poisonous clouds roiling with angry urgency, bringing death on the wind. It was almost beautiful, in the way that shipwrecks and bloodstains were beautiful – the stark elegance of destruction, in all its certainty. Death came for all, the wind keened – not even the sky could escape its fate.

Jane leaned against the broken windowsill and vomited.

She should have anticipated this. She'd seen the bomb fall, and she knew what ruin it carried in its belly when it had erupted, sundering the world so thoroughly that the basic structure of life itself was split, disintegrated, transformed into something new and terrible. She knew what radiation did to the human body – heaven knew the Vault-Tec rep had sent them no shortage of literature and holotapes detailing the devastation that nuclear war would bring, and how, for the sake of her family, shouldn't she consider riding out the storm within the deep confines of a Vault-Tec vault, only emerging once the world was safe and ready for rebuilding?

 _For the sake of her family_. Her husband was dead and her son was gone, and Vault-Tec had lied to her – lied to them all. They'd never intended to keep anyone safe. The residents had been guinea pigs, frozen in a macabre experiment in human cryogenics. And now she was alone, all alone in a ruined world with no idea where her son was, or how to find him. She retched again, choking out a sob as she spilled the remainder of her stomach's contents on the floor. For not the first time, she wished she'd just died with the rest of the vault residents. Died with Nate.

 _No. Shaun is still alive. Without me, he has no one. I have to find him. I have to stay strong._

She was holed up in a Red Rocket station, just on the outskirts of Boston – or what had been Boston, anyway. Amazingly enough, Codsworth, her old Mr. Handy, had still been functional when she'd staggered back to her neighborhood after emerging from the Vault, and from him, she gleaned that there was still some semblance of human society in the city. She had nothing – no money, no knowledge of this new wasteland of a world, and no idea who had taken Shaun, or where they had taken him. The city was as good a place to start as any. It was certainly better than sitting in the wreck of her old house, amid the tattered reminders of her old life, patiently waiting to die.

Her nausea abated for now, she found herself again watching the radiation storm in all its deadly beauty. Strange how something so destructive could be so graceful. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand, wishing she had something to wash away the taste of bile from her mouth.

 _Not that it would be safe to consume_ , she thought bitterly. Was there anything left in this world that wasn't tainted by the poison that blanketed the land? How long could she even hope to survive in an irradiated wasteland? Would she even live long enough to find Shaun?

 _There were survivors_ , her mind absently supplied. People living in the city, so Codsworth had said. That meant people who lived above ground, outside the Vaults, and who presumably had been doing so for years. They weren't dead, though who knew what the fallout had done to them, to their bodies. Perhaps she wouldn't die, either. But then again, the rest of the world had had two hundred years to accustom itself to the radiation. She'd had about a day.

 _Well, I'm not going to die today. And that gives me a chance to find Shaun. I don't care how long it takes – as long as I'm alive, I'm going to look for him. Mama's coming, baby. Don't worry._

A metallic clattering echoed through the deserted gas station. Probably just the wind from the storm rattling the security blinds. She supposed she should find somewhere to rest, at least until the storm blew over. Perhaps the employee break room would offer some respite, a chair or a couch. Maybe there would even be something to eat there, though she found the idea of two-hundred-year old food unappealing at best. It didn't matter – beggars could hardly be choosers.

She had turned from the window and towards the rear of the station when she heard the distinct sound of a human voice. Her heart leapt in her chest – fellow survivors! Perhaps they could tell her where she could look for help – maybe they knew of a town, or where she could find supplies, or – though she dared not get her hopes up – where she could find information about Shaun.

Advancing towards the sound of the voice, she made her way around a corner where she found a back room with its door ajar. She saw a man, dressed in an odd assortment of leather and metal, leaning against the jamb and peering into the open room, muttering. He sounded as though he was talking to himself.

" – so he says to me, he says, 'Jake, lend me a hand!' Like he's real funny or some shit like that. And of course he's laughing his ass off, the fucking prick, like he's the first fucker to make that fucking joke. Fucking asshole." Jane saw now that the man standing in the doorway was missing his right arm below the elbow.

The man stopped talking abruptly and turned around as Jane's foot crunched against a piece of rubble. She was facing him now, and her idea to ask for help suddenly seemed extremely unwise. This man – Jake – did not look like the sort of man she would have ever asked for help, or spoken to for any reason, in her other life. He had a scrunched face that was covered with scars, and his clothing was a patchwork of leather straps and holsters. A vicious looking knife was sheathed casually at his hip, and everything about him felt dangerous and deadly. Upon seeing Jane's startled expression, he smiled. He was missing most of his teeth.

"Well, hello there, doll," he drawled. The way he looked at her made her want to retch all over again. She cursed herself for her stupidity – after everything that had happened in the Vault, after finding out that everyone else had died, she'd instinctively moved towards the sound of another human voice, and it hadn't even occurred to her that there might be plenty of people in this world who she should not seek out. Her heart began to hammer in her chest.

 _Fool. Stupid, stupid, stupid._

"Hello," she said, hoping her voice wasn't as tremulous as her thundering heartbeat. "I was just… just hoping someone could tell me where I could find people. In the city. I'm looking for someone, and I need to know where to start looking." That was it – just project confidence. Fake confidence had gotten her through law school and her early career as an attorney, standing nervous before stern-faced old judges – it would get her through this. Perhaps this man was harmless. She really had no idea what it took to survive in the wasteland – just because he looked rough didn't mean he was a bad man.

"Looking for people?" He grinned, and began to slowly advance towards her. Instinctively, she backed up, until she bumped up against the counter and could move no further. "Well, you found one. I'd be happy to help you out with any of your needs, sweetheart."

Whatever last-ditch optimism she'd felt died at once – no, this was definitely a bad man. An armed, dangerous bad man. Panic gnawed at the edge of her mind, and she began to wildly formulate plans to escape, each one unlikely than the rest.

"Oh, hey, none of that, now. I don't mean you no harm. No need to be scared, honey." He smiled wider, and, at last, stopped moving towards her. A tiny flame of hope rekindled in her heart.

"I don't – I don't need anything," she quickly assured him. "I just want to know how far to the nearest town. I'm just looking for people. That's all. I don't want anything that's yours, I promise. I'm not asking for money. Just directions."

"Oh, well, okay, sure," he replied, and the flicker of hope grew brighter – perhaps she _had_ misjudged him. She didn't appreciate a strange man calling her 'doll' or 'sweetheart' or 'honey,' and she certainly hadn't liked the leer he'd given her, but perhaps he really didn't mean her harm. He was armed, but the wasteland was probably a dangerous place. Were there even laws or police here? Did the military still exist?

"Well, I can give you directions," he said. "Sure, yeah. You want to get into town? You'll be looking for Diamond City. It's just out thataway." He pointed over his right shoulder, in a direction that seemed vaguely southeast. "Anything you want, you can get there. Food, booze, chems, gear, you name it. And you look like the respectable sort, so they'll let you in." He grinned again, and she could only count four teeth in his jagged smile.

Diamond City? "Is that near Boston?" she asked. That was the direction he'd pointed, but she recalled no town named Diamond City in the suburbs.

"I don't know no place called Boston, but Diamond City's your best bet, honey. Course, there's also Goodneighbor, but that might be a little rougher than you're looking for. Though I don't know, you look like you could handle a good time." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and it took all of Jane's control to keep her face neutral. She could not afford to antagonize a thuggish looking vagabond with a knife on his hip, and so far, he'd been helpful, if very creepy. "Now, if you want a _real_ good time, you should head on into the Combat Zone. I'd be happy to introduce you to some of my friends."

"Thanks," she said, hoping she sounded much friendlier than she felt. "Diamond City. Got it. Thank you for your help." With a brisk nod, she started to back away from the counter, edging herself towards the door. The storm had quieted down, though the sky was still an eerie shade of sickly yellow. It was very likely unsafe outside – but it was certainly unsafe inside, and right now, she'd take her chances with the radiation.

"Hey." His voice was a rough bark, all friendly pretense stripped away, and her heart skipped a beat. "Where are you going?"

"Diamond City, like you said," she said quickly, forcing a smile to her face as she continued to edge towards the door. "It's going to be dark soon, so I'd better get on my way. Thank you again! You were very helpful!" She forced a cheer she didn't feel, and hoped he would leave it at that.

He didn't. "Helpful?" His smile was gone, replaced by a sullen glower. "Lady, ain't nobody out here 'helpful.' You got one of them jumpsuits on – you just came up from a Vault? I seen some Vault dwellers before. They don't usually last long. You wanna know why?"

The unmistakable threat in his voice sent daggers of cold fear into her gut.

"Because they don't understand how things work up here," he continued, not waiting for her response. He advanced towards her, and she retreated, this time not caring that whether or not she seemed unfriendly. If she could just get to the door –

"See, out here, there ain't no 'helpful.' There ain't no 'nice.' There's every man for himself. It's kill or be killed. They don't teach you that in the Vaults, do they?" He smiled again, but there was no pretense of kindness to it now. "Out here, if someone gives you something, they expect to get something in return. You get my meaning? Maybe you have some caps on you? Some chems? I ain't out here for my health. And I sure as shit ain't just helping you out for free, lady."

Caps? Chems? He wanted payment? She didn't have any chemicals, and she certainly didn't have any 'caps,' whatever those were. "I'm sorry," she said, not stopping her backward movement towards the door. "I don't have any money or anything. I can't pay you. I'm sorry, I wouldn't have asked if I'd known."

"Oh, so you just took me for a chump, that it? Some dumb sap you could bat your pretty eyes at and take me for a ride?" He shook his head. "Naw, lady, if you ain't got caps or chems, you can pay me another way." He grinned again, and the unspoken threat that had provided the undercurrent of menace to their entire conversation became tangible and real, and the fear that she'd valiantly held at bay seized her. He seemed to sense the change in her demeanor, and he grinned wider. Desperately, she leapt towards the door, but he'd anticipated her sudden movement, and lunged forward. She slammed against the door, pushing it open and shoving her body through the opening, but something tugged at her leg, pulled it out from under her, and she fell hard to the ground, the side of her head banging against the door. With a growl of triumph, Jake, his hand wrapped like an iron vise around her ankle, jerked hard, and pulled her back into the gas station.

"You think you can get away from me, you little bitch?" He tugged at her leg again, and she gasped as her back needled in pain, and she realized he was dragging her across a carpet of broken glass and rubble. Maintaining his tight grip on her ankle, he leaned up and forward, pinning her other leg beneath his weight, until his face was leering into hers. His ugly scarred face split into a toothless smile again, and he was close enough that she could smell his fetid, dank breath.

"You're a real pretty one. Prettier than any wastelander broad," he leered appreciatively, making no attempt to disguise his intentions as his eyes roved across her body, still clad in the somewhat form-fitting Vault-Tec jumpsuit. "I'm gonna really enjoy having you." She gagged as his putrid breath reached her nose, and she turned her head, fixing her eyes on his arm-stump supporting his weight on the floor.

An idea half-formed in the midst of frantic, fearful thoughts, and, mustering her strength, she leaned back, willing herself to look him in the eyes. "It's okay, I won't fight," she said, her voice shaking, hoping he read her tremulous tone as fear alone. "Just don't hurt me. I won't fight, I promise."

"Aww, too bad, I like it when girls have some spirit," he said, and she focused on breathing shallowly through her mouth, trying to think of everything except his foul breath. "But you're a good girl, ain't you? A real good girl." His eyes flickered half-closed and he leaned in close, as if to kiss her – and she jerked her hand up and jammed her thumb into his eye as hard as she could.

Jake roared in pain and jerked back, and he released her leg as his only hand flew instinctively to his maimed eye. He screamed in agony and wallowed on the ground, and Jane scooted over and out from under him, and she froze, time itself seeming to slow down as she came up to a crouch. She was halfway between the door and him – she could make a break for it now, leap to her feet, sprint out the door, and run – anywhere, away from him. But where would she go, and how would she avoid him? He might be half-blinded, but he would be angry, and he would not let her go. Her eyes caught sight of the savage knife, sheathed at his hip. She could go for it – but maybe he would catch her, and if he caught her, and she didn't succeed in taking the knife from him, he would kill her for sure. After no doubt spending a good deal of time making her wish she were dead. And what would she do with the knife? Overpower him? Kill him? She had to decide – now. She saw him move his hand, now covered in blood. His left eye was a bloody mess, his face a rictus of fury.

"You fucking cunt," he growled, and she leapt away, heading for the door – she'd missed her window of opportunity, and all she could hope now was that he was blind enough, and in pain enough, to misjudge the distance between them. She'd made it just out the door when a heavy, crushing weight crashed into her and sent her sprawling to the ground.

"Fuckin' whore!" He pinned her to the ground beneath a sharp knee, and she yelped in pain as he grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head up out of the dirt. Twisting savagely, he flipped her over, and if she had thought he'd looked angry before, it was nothing compared to the rage that filled his face now. His eye was swollen shut, and blood oozed from the socket down his cheek, the rivulets following the grooves of his scars. He shoved her head down against the ground, hard, and Jane grunted as her skull made hard contact with the concrete. Releasing her hair, he brought his hand swiftly down to his hip and unsheathed the knife.

"You're gonna pay for my eye, you fucking little slut. You're gonna pay me in more ways than you know how, and when I'm done I'm going to slit your fucking throat and leave you out here for the dogs." He brought the knife up and pressed it against her neck, the steel cold against her overheated skin, and his knees pressed painfully against her belly.

"You better lay back and be still this time," he rasped. "If you fight me, I'll just kill you and fuck your corpse. Your choice." Pressing the knife against her throat for emphasis, he lowered his hand, the knife making its way back towards the sheath as he shifted his weight, pressing his arm stump against her neck, choking off her breath. She gasped as he pushed the full weight of his arm into her throat, stars appearing at the fringes of her vision as the knife went back into the sheath and his hand moved over to his belt, where he began to deftly work the catch.

She had to act now. There was no possibility he wasn't going to kill her; all that remained was how much she had to suffer before he did. An implacable knot of rage hardened in her heart, burning with white-hot fury before calcifying into an icy cold steel. She was not going to be a victim to this monster, not if she could fight back. Not as long as she drew breath.

His belt fell open, and he shifted backwards, his stump moving from her throat to balance himself as he busied his good hand with the clasp of his pants. It was the window Jane needed. Throwing herself forward, she slammed her forehead into the bridge of his nose, hearing a satisfying wet crunch as it collapsed beneath her skull. She brought her arms up and shoved him hard, and, his scream an incoherent gurgle of pain, he toppled backwards, off balance.

This time, she did not hesitate to lunge for the knife in its sheath, but he was ready for her, and his hand snaked out and grasped her wrist just as she'd wrapped her hand around the handle. He twisted hard, and pain lanced through her arm, but her grip was sure and she knew that to let go now meant certain death.

"Bitch!" He screamed, his voice slurred as blood streamed from the ruins of his destroyed nose. They grappled for the knife, his strength slowly overwhelming her as he twisted her wrist harder and harder, but still she wouldn't let go. He tackled her, sending them both to the ground, the knife in her hand, her wrist in his grip.

She gasped raggedly as his superior strength forced her hand, holding the knife, ever more gradually towards her own throat. She was motivated by her hatred and her rage, but he was still a violent young man in his prime, and he too was powered by pain and fury. She realized, with sickening certainty, that he would eventually win this battle, unless she had one last, final throw before it was all over.

He forced her hand closer and closer, and the knife hovered just over her head. Hot blood from Jake's wrecked face dripped steadily against her forehead as he seethed above her, spittle flying from his panting mouth. She had to act now. Shifting her position, she pushed against his grip with all of her strength – and drove a knee straight up and into his crotch.

An animal roar erupted from him as he instinctively crumpled inwards, the pain in his nether regions sending him into a spasm. A sharp stinging drew across her face, followed shortly by white-hot pain – Jake's arm had flailed when she'd kneed him in the balls, and the knife had sliced down her cheek. She felt her own blood leaking down her face and neck, and she gasped as the pain intensified, sending a blaze of fire down the gash in her face – but she felt the pressure on her wrist abate. It was her only chance, and it was all she needed.

Shoving her free hand into his face, she jerked her wrist free from his grasp, and, grabbing his hair with her free hand to hold his head up, she shoved the knife deep into the side of his neck. His howl of pain ceased abruptly, turning into a strangled, choking gurgle, and his severed artery send a hot spray of blood into the air, splattering across her face. With a cry of rage, she shoved the knife harder and harder into him, her eyes meeting his with satisfaction as his one good eye registered first anger, then pain, then fear, then terrified resignation. Leaning against him, she twisted her wrist savagely, sending a fresh gout of blood streaming from his throat.

"Fuck you," she gritted out, staring hard into his eyes. "You fucking lowlife piece of shit. I hope you burn in hell." With a final, snarled shove, she pushed him over, yanking the knife from his throat as his lifeless body collapsed to the ground.

Adrenaline pounded through her veins as she stared in disbelief at the bloody, maimed corpse of the thug below her.

 _Holy shit. I just killed a man_. She looked down at herself properly for the first time since the fight had begun, and realized she was covered in blood. _At least most of it isn't mine._ Wait, where had that thought come from?

Her eyes glanced to the knife still held loosely in her hand. Her hand and wrist were slick with blood, and the knife was stained red from tip to handle. A vague throbbing fire along her face reminded her that she'd been cut, and instinctively, her other hand reached up to touch the wound, and she gasped with pain. She should probably find a mirror – maybe in the gas station? Wouldn't there be a bathroom there? She looked down at herself again, and shuddered to think what she must look like – covered in blood, a vicious slice across her face. Idly, she wondered if she would have a scar. Her eyes wandered down to Jake's body, his scarred face forever frozen in agony. She wondered how he'd gotten his scars.

 _I killed a man_. Rationally, she knew that she should be feeling something – horror, disgust, sadness, regret – something that reassured her that she had done an awful thing, that she had only acted out of necessity, that taking a human life was a serious and terrible burden that she could accept only with solemn remorse. But she felt none of those things. Instead, she only felt a heady sense of exhilaration – as though she'd performed a death-defying stunt and lived to tell the tale, against all odds. She felt satisfied, and _excited_.

 _Who the hell am I?_ She was a lawyer, for God's sake, not some psychotic killer! She had never done more than swat a fly in her old life! Who was this person who held a bloody knife in her hand and felt a thrill as she stood over the body of the man she'd just killed in hand to hand combat?

 _The person you need to be to survive in this world_ , a voice whispered to her, dark and assured. _Forget everything about who you were before the War. Forget who you used to be. This is what the world is, now. Those people killed Nate and stole your baby. If you want him back, you need to play by their rules._

Shaking, she wondered where that voice had come from, and she slowly made her way back to the gas station, discomfited by her reaction to Jake's death. There was indeed a bathroom, as she'd anticipated, and the blood-spattered face that greeted her in the mirror was a stranger's. Her wavy brown hair hung just below her chin, and was tousled and matted with blood. Her face and neck were covered in blood, and she turned the spigot at the sink experimentally, surprised when muddy-brown water erupted from the faucet. It was probably irradiated, but she supposed she would have to get used to that now. She grimaced in pain as she splashed the cool water over her face, rinsing away the blood in pink rivers down the drain and revealing the vicious looking two inch wound that marred her left cheek. Hazel eyes blinked at her in the mirror, and she thought idly that she should probably try to find a first aid kit, to put something on the cut before it got infected. Wouldn't it just be her luck to die of gangrene in a nuclear wasteland?

She made her way methodically back through the station until she reached the open door where Jake had been chattering to himself. Though she knew he'd been alone – if he'd had any accomplices, they surely would have shown themselves by now – she retained a tight grip on her knife as she emerged into the room, scanning each corner before being satisfied that she was indeed alone. To her relief, there was a small cot in the corner covered with a ratty, moth-eaten blanket. It was not inviting, but it would do. She supposed rotten two-hundred-year old ruins of civilization were another thing she'd have to get used to.

There was a locker next to the cot, and, curious, she opened it up. She was surprised but pleased to find a simple, workmanlike set of denim clothes, the kind a mechanic might have worn back when the Red Rocket had actually been a thriving business. Amazing that the clothes had survived two hundred years. They looked a bit big, but anything would be better than her sticky, bloodsoaked Vault-Tec jumpsuit. She stripped out of the jumpsuit with swift efficiency, gingerly shoving the bloody outfit into a waste can beside the door. She looked down at her body, clad now only in her undergarments, and was pleased to see that there was no obvious sign of blood or injury.

A sudden wave of tiredness hit her; after the adrenaline rush of the fight, her energy reserves were depleted, and the sight of the cot, even in all its tattered grime, was undeniably appealing. Sighing, she closed the office door shut and turned the lock. Hopefully that would keep out any other thugs like Jake. If not… she decided to stash the knife under her pillow, just in case.

She had just sat down on the edge of the cot when a glint of something caught her eye at the bottom of the locker. She reached over and felt the cool glass neck of a bottle, and realized that there was a half-full bottle of brown liquor. She held the bottle in her hands disbelievingly – somehow, she'd just assumed that the first thing to go after the apocalypse would be the liquor.

She unscrewed the bottle, and the spicy smell of whiskey hit her nose. A sharp pang of grief knifed through her – Nate had loved whiskey, and liked to unwind with a tumbler of his favorite Irish whiskey every night. She'd been more of a wine person, when she drank, but she'd always enjoyed the smell of Nate's nightcap. It reminded her of him, and of home.

A hot, raw sob choked from her throat, and, without thinking, she lifted the bottle to her lips and took a deep pull. The whiskey burned like fire down her throat and she coughed, sputtering at the intense heat. She couldn't believe Nate had actually _liked_ this stuff.

She lowered the bottle and looked at it, the amber liquid pooling invitingly at the bottom. The smell of it teased her and brought to mind a cascade of memories; Nate in his favorite chair, reading the newspaper; Nate at their wedding, more than a little drunk, while his army buddies got him increasingly inebriated with toast after toast; Nate pouring a celebratory glass the night she'd told him that she was pregnant; Nate inviting their neighbors in for a nightcap the night they'd brought Shaun home from the hospital…

She put the bottle to her lips and took another swallow, this one long, slow, and sure. This time, she didn't cough or sputter, and, when the bottle was finally empty, she dropped it from insensate fingers and drifted into an uninterrupted and dreamless sleep.


	2. Jewel of the Commonwealth

Jane stared at the miraculously-still-standing statue of Ted Williams and understood at once why she'd never heard of a place called "Diamond City" before now.

Fenway Park stood before her, more or less intact, in all its prewar glory. A series of fortifications had been built up around it, and the massive entrance loomed up before her, the metal security gate slammed down. A collection of men – guards, possibly? – scrutinized her carefully from beneath modified catcher's masks. Their entire outfits, in fact, looked like strangely armored versions of baseball uniforms. The whole scene was so surreal it would have been funny had it not reminded her so jarringly of the world she'd lost.

"Stop right there," a helmeted guard called out to her as she approached the gates. "I'm sorry, ma'am, there's no admittance to Diamond City for nonresidents at the moment. Mayor's orders."

"Listen – I'm not here to make trouble. I just need some information," she said. She refused to accept that she'd come this far, journeyed across a stretch of wasteland from Sanctuary Hills all the way into what remained of downtown Boston, only to be turned away with nothing for her trouble. "I need to speak to someone who might be able to help me find my son. It's very important. Please, help me."

She could not see the guard's face from behind his heavily-armored catcher's mask, but she could tell he was waffling. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, but I'm under strict orders not to allow any strangers into Diamond City. I'm sure you understand, what with the raiders and mutants acting up. Can't take any chances."

"Oh, for God's sake, Tompkins, does she _look_ like a raider or a mutant?" Jane turned her head in surprise at the new voice, and found herself looking at a sprightly young woman, dressed in a newsboy cap and wearing a red trenchcoat. "You're not seriously going to leave this poor woman out here at their mercy, are you?"

The guard clung to his rifle. "Look, Piper, you know how the mayor is, and if I let this lady in, it's my ass he's gonna chew out, not yours."

The woman – Piper – tossed her shoulders in a careless shrug. "Then let it be my responsibility. I'll vouch for her, and if the mayor makes a fuss, I'll be the one to deal with him."

The guard shrugged. "Your funeral," he said. He retreated behind a barricade and Jane could see him fiddling with a terminal; with a metallic shriek, the security gate began to slowly retract, revealing the spacious concourse of Fenway within. "All right, go on in. Sorry about the inconvenience, lady."

Jane turned to Piper as the gate rattled open. "Thank you," she said. "Look, I don't want you to get into any trouble on my account – "

Piper scoffed, waving her hand dismissively. "Oh, the mayor's all bluster – he won't actually _do_ anything. But you'd better come inside before Tompkins chickens out and changes his mind." Jane followed Piper into the stadium, and she heard the security gate clatter shut behind her.

They had no sooner advanced to the walkway that Jane knew led to the field-level seats when a well-dressed man met them at the top of the stairs.

"Ah, Ms. Wright, our resident troublemaker," he said, employing the insincere smile that marked him as a politician. His gaze shifted to Jane, and a look of suspicion darted across his face before he plastered a too-friendly smile back on his face.

"And who have we here? I don't believe I've ever seen you before," he said shrewdly, casting a pointed look at Piper. She stared at him defiantly, as if daring him to make a scene about Jane's unexpected appearance. "I am Mayor McDonough, elected by the good people of Diamond City to take good care of our little city, the Jewel of the Commonwealth." He frowned, a look that managed to be both concerned and patronizing at the same time. "I don't mean to seem unfriendly, but there has been a lot of trouble going on in the Commonwealth of late, and – well, you understand that we can't have just anyone coming and going as they please. What, precisely, brings you to Diamond City, if I may ask?"

"I was told to come here," Jane began, repressing a shudder as she recalled exactly how she'd come by her knowledge of Diamond City. "I'm looking for –"

Something –a caution born of instinct, perhaps – stopped her midsentence. The mayor continued to smile gamely at her, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. Could she trust him? It had occurred to her, after her encounter with Jake, that trust was a scarce commodity in the wasteland. Until she knew more about who had taken Shaun, and why, perhaps a bit of caution was prudent.

"I'm looking for someone," she finished, hoping he wouldn't notice her evasion. "I was told that Diamond City would be the best place to start my search."

She'd hoped in vain. "Well, I suppose that entirely depends on who you're looking for," the mayor said. "Would you care to be a bit more specific?"

Again, Jane warred with the notion of telling this man about her son, but something gave her pause. "Someone I know has gone missing," she said. "I need to find out where they might have gone. I don't think they came here, but maybe…" She trailed off.

"Another missing person?" Piper rounded on McDonough indignantly. "That's the sixth missing person report this month! Are you going to keep pretending the Institute isn't a problem, mayor?"

"Now, Ms. Wright, you have no proof of Institute involvement, and you know it. I won't have these paranoid conspiracy theories getting folks all in an uproar! Valentine is doing the best he can –"

"Yeah, and now _he's_ missing too," Piper said darkly. "Well, I'm not going to let the Institute keep stealing people right out from under our noses, even if you want to sweep it all under the rug."

A crowd had begun to gather on the periphery of the exchange, and Jane could see that McDonough had no interest in a public dustup. "Nothing is being swept under the rug," he said loudly, more for the benefit of the growing crowd than for Piper. "I was born and raised in Diamond City, and I am as committed to the safety of its citizens as anyone here!" He fixed a firm look at Jane, fake smile still plastered to his face. "Welcome to Diamond City, stranger. I hope you find what you're looking for. I'll offer you a bit of warning about Ms. Wright, though; she's more interested in her next big scoop than anything else, even if it means she has to invent a crisis out of whole cloth. I'd be wary of anything she tells you."

Piper stared daggers at the mayor's retreating back as he ambled towards the crowd, gamely reassuring people that there was nothing to see here. "Bastard," she muttered. "Come on. After that scene, you need a proper welcome to Diamond City. I know just the place. Then you can tell me everything about your missing person, and I'll do whatever I can to help."

Jane frowned. She didn't take the mayor's words too seriously – she knew what a politician covering his ass sounded like, and clearly the apocalypse had done nothing to change the inherent nature of that particular beast. And yet she had no compelling reason to take this Piper at face value, either. She'd been helpful, so far – but so had Jake been, at first.

Okay, settle down. Maybe you can't trust everyone out here, but you can't assume they're all going to stab you in the back, either. This woman got me into Diamond City, and she seems like she has an ear to the ground. She's as good a place as any to start fishing for information about Shaun.

"I appreciate it," she said sincerely. Perhaps what she felt for the young woman wasn't trust, per se, but it was good enough. "Thank you."

"Sure thing," Piper replied. "Now – how does the bar sound?"

* * *

"So," Piper chirped, handing Jane a bottle of beer. "Let me formally welcome you to Diamond City! Sorry again that you had to deal with Mayor McAsshole – I can just about guarantee you that he hates the idea of a stranger wandering around his city. He'll do everything he can to get in your way, but don't worry – he doesn't know half of what goes on in Diamond City, anyway. Good thing you found me." She thrust a hand towards Jane, who took it hesitantly. "Name's Piper Wright. Editor of the Publick Occurences. No wonder I'm public enemy number one, eh?"

Jane gazed around in disbelief at the miniature city that had sprung up inside what had once been Fenway Park. She recalled the last time she'd been to Fenway, back when she and Nate had just started dating. He'd taken her to a Red Sox-Yankees game, and they'd sat up in the seats high above left field, above the wall they called the Green Monster. She couldn't remember who won the game; she'd been far too busy flirting with Nate to pay much attention to the action on the field. A sense of melancholic loss filled her, and she took a swift slug of beer to dispel the lump in her throat.

Now the stadium was filled with a variety of lean-tos and shanties, a hodgepodge of shops and homes cobbled together from scrap metal, junk, and human ingenuity. She and Piper were seated at a bench on what she was fairly certain had once been the playing field, outside a bar called the Dugout; Jane wondered if it really had been the Red Sox dugout, or if the people of this time, having long since forgotten the actual game of baseball, had just adopted the name out of a sense of folkloric memory.

"Why would the mayor hate me?" Jane asked, taking another sip of the beer. It was surprisingly not awful. "I just arrived. I don't know anything about – anything, really."

Piper shrugged. "Doesn't matter. He's paranoid. You wanna know why?" She leaned in close. "I think he's a synth," she whispered conspiratorially. "He's afraid someone's gonna uncover his secret. I'm onto him, so he hates me – and if he sees you palling around with me, he'll hate you too. Count on it."

Jane stared at Piper, bewildered. "What the hell is a 'synth?' And if it's a secret, how did you find out?" She was beginning to realize how very little she understood about the new world she'd awakened in, and – as she had discovered from her encounter with Jake – ignorance, in the wasteland, could be very deadly.

Piper stared at her incredulously. "What do you mean 'what's a synth'? Everyone's heard of synths! You know… Institute robots, virtually indistinguishable from humans, programmed to do their master's bidding, living among us as we speak?"

Jane's puzzled expression clearly spoke volumes, because Piper frowned in concern. "Wait, you really _don't_ know about synths, do you?" She appraised Jane with a shrewd look. "Where exactly did you come from? I don't know of any place in the Commonwealth that hasn't heard of the Institute or synths."

Again, Jane toyed with disclosing the truth, but simple practicality forced her hand. She needed information, and it was becoming increasingly clear to her that she knew next to nothing about what had happened in the past two hundred years since the bombs had fallen. She needed to get that information somewhere, and it was much wiser – and safer – that she get it now, from a friendly-seeming reporter in a safe refuge over a few bottles of beer, than be left to her own devices to navigate such a strange new world.

"I come from a vault," she admitted. "Vault 111, just northwest of the city. I only left the vault yesterday. I don't know anything about life up here. I've never heard of an 'institute' or 'synths' or anything like that."

"Wait – you're from a _vault_? A real-life Vault Dweller?" Piper whistled in appreciation and her eyes lit up with the particular gleam of a reporter sniffing out a story. "Wow. You have to tell me everything! Were you born in the vault? Why did you leave?" She seemed ready to fire off another question, but caught herself, perhaps noticing Jane's expression. "Sorry. Didn't mean to overload you there. It's habit. I mean, I'd love to hear your story, but no pressure."

Jane scrutinized Piper, wondering how much to trust the loquacious reporter. Piper seemed harmless enough – she certainly meant Jane no personal harm, of that she was certain – but Jane had known enough wannabe-journalist types in her college days to know that anything she said to Piper would remain a secret for exactly as long as it took her to scribble down the notes on her steno pad. But perhaps this was a stroke of luck – she _was_ looking for anyone who could help her find out who had taken Shaun, and where she might find him, and who better to get the word out than a reporter?

"I came to Diamond City to look for my son," she said. "I was told this was the nearest town of any size. Like I said, I just left the vault yesterday. I don't know who took him or why, or where to begin looking for him, and I thought…" She trailed off, her words blocked by the lump that had formed in her throat.

"I thought I might find a lead here," she finished.

"Your son?" Piper murmured in sympathy. "God. I'm sorry. That's awful. Took, as in… kidnapped? This happened yesterday?"

"Not quite," Jane began, unsure of where, exactly, to begin the tale. Would anyone even believe that she'd actually been alive, in a manner of speaking, for over two hundred years? She could scarcely believe it herself. "The vault I was in… Vault 111… we were frozen. Cryogenically preserved. I had no idea it was going to happen until we stepped into these pods – the Vault-Tec officials told us they were decontamination pods, but obviously that was a lie." A familiar surge of anger filled her. "My husband was holding our baby, and they were frozen together. The next time I was aware of anything, there were men outside, in the vault. They opened Nate's pod, and took our baby from him. Then they killed him. They talked about killing me too, but one of them said I was the 'backup,' whatever that meant. Then they refroze me. I woke up yesterday when the life support started failing and the cryo pods thawed out. No one else was alive."

Piper's wide-eyed expression hovered between sympathy and excitement – this was clearly the biggest scoop she'd had in a while. "Jesus," she whistled. "That's… something. Whatever I was expecting you to say, it sure wasn't that." Her face hardened into an expression of stony suspicion. "I'd be willing to bet any amount of caps the Institute had something to do with your son's kidnapping. They've stolen dozens of people from Diamond City alone, and the mayor refuses to do anything about it. You see why I think he's a synth now?"

Jane frowned. "So what exactly is this 'Institute'? And what are 'synths'? And why do you think they have anything to do with what happened to Shaun?"

"That's just it," Piper said. "No one really knows anything about the Institute, other than that they exist. They're about as shadowy as secretive as it comes. All anyone knows is that they're responsible for synths, and the synths have been getting better and better over the years. More realistic. Used to be, the old synths –" Piper gave a rueful chuckle – "well, they _looked_ like robots. I mean, human-shaped robots, sure, but still robots. Metal bodies, plastic skin, creepy robot voices – the whole shebang. But then somewhere along the line, the Institute stepped up its game. They started making synths so advanced that they could actually pass for people, in just about every way that matters. We didn't even know it was possible until the Broken Mask incident."

"The 'Broken Mask' incident?"

"Yeah. About fifty years ago, a man wanders up to the bar where Takahashi's Power Noodles stand is now. He's just a regular guy – chatting up the locals, ordering drinks, having a good time, just like anyone else. Except, all of a sudden, he snaps – the old timers who were around back then say it was like someone flipped a switch inside his head. His expression just changes instantly – he goes from laughing and smiling to completely blank, like someone hit a reset button in his brain. Then he pulls out his gun and starts killing people, as casually as you please. Several people were dead by the time security put him down, and guess what they found when they took a look at his corpse?"

Jane shuddered. "I'm guessing he was a synth?"

Piper tipped her drink at Jane in acknowledgement. "You got it. Instead of blood, bones, brains – you know, the usual residue of a dead human – they found machine bits. Plastic. Metal. Wires. Circuits. Turns out 'friendly Mr. Carter' had been a synth the whole time, and no one knew it. Ever since then, Diamond City's been on edge – if you can't tell a human from a synth until you start poking around under the skull, then who's to say that anyone you meet couldn't be a synth in disguise? People started getting suspicious of their neighbors, friends, family – anybody who started acting out of sorts. And it's just gotten worse of late with all the disappearances. I've heard stories of people disappearing, only to reappear months later – except it turns out that it's not _them_ anymore, but a synth replacement built by the Institute. It's got people scared, and it doesn't help matters that Mayor McDonough is busy pretending that nothing is happening. That's why I think he's a synth – what does he have to gain by covering for the Institute otherwise?"

Jane heaved a slow, heavy sigh, fingers tracing idle patterns in the condensation that had formed on her bottle. This was a lot to take in – some mysterious 'institute,' that no one knew anything about, which was apparently in the business of creating hostile androids for some unknown purpose. Piper's information had generated far more questions than answers, and a coiled snake of fury and powerlessness twisted through Jane's insides.

"And you think this 'Institute' took my baby? Why? What could they possibly want with a baby?" She refused to allow herself to answer her rhetorical questions, because none of the possible answers could be good. "Where is the Institute? If that's where I have to go to find Shaun, then so be it. I'll knock on the front door myself."

"Well, that's the problem," Piper said. "No one actually knows where the Institute is located. No one's ever been there. Even the synths don't know – we've managed to interrogate some of them over the years, but they seem to genuinely have no clue. It's like the information was wiped from their hard drive, or something."

"So that's it?" A rising sense of panic and helplessness surged through Jane, and she felt her anger mounting. "I came all this way, and there's nothing I can do? The 'Institute,' whoever the hell they are, took my child, but they're all-powerful and invisible and no one knows where they are or how to find them? So I'm just supposed to shrug my shoulders and give up, and let them do God only knows what to my _baby_? He's only five months old!" She heard her voice break, and she took a furious swig from her bottle to clear her throat. She was not about to break down in front of this woman, sympathetic journalist or no.

"Whoa, whoa. I never said there was nothing you could do," Piper said, raising her hands in a placating gesture. "Look… remember when the mayor mentioned Nick Valentine? He's our local private detective, of sorts, here in Diamond City. He's been pretty busy lately investigating other missing persons cases, people he suspects were taken by the Institute. It's possible he might have uncovered a lead I haven't. He might be able to help you out."

"Yeah, and didn't you say he was missing, too?" Jane countered. "He's not going to be a lot of help to me if he's not here. If this 'Institute' has done anything to him, then I'm back at square one."

"That's true, but he's the best lead you've got right now," Piper said. She sighed, taking off her cap and running a hand through her hair. "Look, I'm sorry I can't be more help. I can tell you're upset –"

"Upset? Upset is an understatement, don't you think? Of course I'm fucking upset!" Jane knew, rationally, that none of this was Piper's fault. Piper had, in fact, been the only friendly face she'd seen since she'd emerged into the wreckage of the postwar world. But the reporter's revelations about this mysterious Institute – and the notion of such a nefarious organization stealing her son, for whatever vague and sinister purposes she couldn't even begin to imagine – had crawled under Jane's skin, and she found herself filled with the same sense of helpless rage she'd felt in the cryo pod, pounding in vain against the glass as she watched the grim-faced man murder her husband in cold blood while his accomplices bundled away her wailing infant son.

"Hey. I get it. I have a kid sister, you know." Piper's voice, firm but not unkind, cut through the red haze of Jane's fury. "If the Institute took her, I'd be feeling exactly the way you're feeling right now. There's nothing I wouldn't do to get her back. And I'm saying, Nick Valentine is your best bet. My advice is to check with his secretary. She'll know where he was last headed off to before he went missing – she might be able to help you find him. But look, no offense," Piper said, casting a skeptical eye at Jane's ill-fitting denim work suit, "but you kinda don't look very well equipped to take on the wasteland. It can be a dangerous place out there."

"Yeah. I found that out pretty quickly," Jane replied, her hand migrating unconsciously to where Jake's knife rested against her hip. It hadn't seemed like much, but she had already killed a man with it – and if she had to do so again, she would. If that's what it took to find this Valentine fellow. If that's what it took to find Shaun.

"Then you know you need something more than a set of men's work denims and a knife." Jane's eyes snapped up in surprise, and Piper laughed. "Oh, I saw that within five seconds of meeting you. I'm a reporter, remember? It's my job to notice the little details." She gestured towards the bustling marketplace behind them. "Go talk to Valentine's secretary. His office is just off Third Street. And before you head out again, pick up some weapons and sturdier clothing at Myrna's or Arturo's. Myrna's a crazy old bat, but she's got some good loot. Do you have any caps on you?"

Jake had mentioned 'caps' too – it was clear, from context, that it was some kind of currency, but Jane couldn't begin to imagine of what kind. "What exactly are 'caps?' I guess no one takes regular old American dollars anymore?"

"Oh man," Piper breathed. "I forgot you were around before the war. Dollars. Wow. No one's used pre-war money as currency since… well, way before I was born, anyway. Yeah, you'll want some caps." She fished something out of her pocket, and showed it to Jane. It was a bottle cap from a Nuka-Cola bottle.

"A bottle cap? That's it?" Jane stared incredulously at the little piece of metal. "That's seriously what you people use for money?"

"Hey, it's not like it's any less ridiculous than using pieces of paper with pictures on them," Piper said defensively. "Money is just an expression of value, right? Who decided that gold had value, way back in the old days? People who thought it was pretty, and shiny, and rare." She shrugged, and slipped the bottle cap back into her pocket. "I guess caps aren't very pretty or shiny, but they're rare enough to have value, so we use them as money. If you don't have any caps…" She gestured at Jane's work clothes. "Well, you could probably work something out with Arturo or Myrna. A barter or a trade, maybe. Maybe you have some old pre-war stuff you wanted to get rid of? There are always the weirdo collectors who eat all that stuff up. You could probably get pretty good caps for it." She stood up from the bench, and Jane followed suit.

"Hey, listen… let me know what happens, okay? I really hope you find your baby." Piper extended her hand, and Jane took it, this time less hesitantly than before.

"Piper." The journalist turned, regarded Jane with an inquisitive look.

"Why did you decide to help me? You don't know anything about me. How do you know I'm not one of these Institute synths you keep talking about?"

Piper grinned wryly. "I don't, but you pissed off the mayor, and that's good enough for me."

Jane pondered Piper's words as she wandered through the marketplace. She knew the reporter was right – she'd seen the dangers the wasteland presented, and she had a scar to show for it. The next time she encountered a violent predator like Jake, she'd want more than a knife to defend herself with. Still, the thought gave her a brief pause. She was no soldier. Nate had been the one drafted into the army to fight the endless war against the Chinese, not her. While he'd been off at war, she'd been back home, in Boston, and the only battles she'd fought had been in a courtroom, against opposing counsel. She'd only handled a gun a few times, during the mandatory civil defense course the government had required all civilians to take. That had been before she'd gotten pregnant with Shaun, so whatever meager skills she'd gained were certainly out of practice now.

She shook her head. Nothing about the prewar world mattered anymore. There were no 'civilians' in the wasteland. There were people like Jake, and people like her. People who would kill to take what they wanted, and the people who would be killed, unless they fought back. She had already killed once; she could do so again, she was sure of it. What difference did it make if she killed a man with a knife or a gun?

Maybe it would've been better if I'd been holding Shaun the day the bombs fell and Vault-Tec froze us in those pods. Maybe it would've been better for him if I'd been killed and Nate had survived. Nate was a soldier – he would've known what to do. But he's dead. He's dead because those bastards murdered him, and I'm alive. So it's up to me to avenge my husband and save my baby.

She approached a stall festooned with all manner of deadly looking weapons. A mustached man – Arturo, she assumed – shot her a grin.

"Looking to defend yourself out there? The wasteland's a deadly place. You're gonna need some serious firepower."

"What all do you have?" Jane asked, looking over Arturo's arsenal and feeling a bit overwhelmed.

"Oh, I got everything – depends on how many caps you got." At Jane's hesitation, he gave her a searching look. "I mean, you _do_ have caps, don't you?"

"Um… not exactly."

To his credit, Arturo didn't laugh her out of his store. "Hey, lady, I get it. We've all been there. But I mean, I don't run a charity here. I can't just be giving out guns for free. But say, maybe you have something you wanna trade? I'm open to suggestions. You give me something of value, we'll work out a deal. I'd hate to see you walk away empty handed."

Jane patted down the pockets of her mechanic's denims. Of course, she hadn't grabbed anything of value from the Red Rocket – stupid! She should have known she'd need to trade for supplies, eventually – why hadn't she thought of that? Another thought occurred to her – she should have gone through Jake's pockets, to see if he'd carried anything else of value on him. He might have had some of these 'caps' stashed away somewhere in his clothes. The thought of touching that filth again made her shudder, and she felt more than a small amount of shame at the thought that she was now seriously considering looting the dead, but a louder, more practical voice quickly drowned out her moral objections. Jake was dead, and he'd been a vile rapist piece of shit, anyway – what use did a corpse have of possessions? It wasn't as though he had a family, or was awaiting a proper burial. He was likely still lying right where she'd left him, in a pool of his own blood in the parking lot of the Red Rocket, with whatever useful things he'd owned remaining in his pockets for the carrion birds to pick around. _Idiot. Don't make that mistake again._

Her hand closed around an object, and she withdrew it curiously from her pocket. Her heart plunged into her stomach as she regarded the simple, shiny gold band resting in her palm.

"Oh, hey, that's real pretty. That'll do," Arturo said. "Is that real gold? Tell you what – I'd say that's worth about two hundred caps. That's enough to get you a respectable rifle of your choice, some ammo, and I'll let you take a look at some more suitable road leathers, too. I probably got something more in your size. What do you say?"

"Oh – no! No, I'm sorry, this isn't for sale," she said, closing her hand protectively around the gold ring.

"Oh… well, all right, lady, that's your choice, but unless you got something else, I can't make a trade. I can give you a handful of caps for those clothes, since they look like they're in decent condition, but it wouldn't be enough to get you anything much better."

She opened her clasped hand again, and regarded the simple wedding band that glittered in her palm. The men who'd murdered Nate had closed up his pod again, for some reason, even though its occupant no longer lived. When she'd awoken, the life support failing, she'd managed to open his pod before she'd fled the vault. He'd been cold, so cold, and it had been easy to slide the ring from his frozen, lifeless finger.

"I can't sell this," she said mechanically. "It was my husband's. It's all I have left of him."

"Aww, jeez. I'm sorry, lady," Arturo said, rubbing his head. He heaved a sigh. "Look… I don't usually do this, but how about I make you a deal. You give me the ring, and I'll trade you the rifle, ammo, and a better set of clothes. You bring me two hundred caps in a month's time, and I give you the ring back. If you don't have the money by then, I sell the ring. Deal?"

"I – " She was struck by the unexpected kindness of Arturo's offer. And he was right – if she didn't trade the ring, she had no way of acquiring the kind of gear she'd need to face the dangers of the wasteland. She'd have to see about earning caps out there, somehow, but to do that, she'd need to be able to survive first. It was generous of him to offer to sell the ring back to her, and she knew she couldn't turn him down.

"Deal," she said, and she shoved her memories firmly to the back of her mind as she thrust her hand towards Arturo, willed herself not to remember the day she'd slipped the ring onto Nate's finger as she felt the trader take it from her palm. It felt like losing Nate all over again, and she refused to indulge her grief, at least for now.

Minutes later, she left Arturo's shop, awkwardly cradling a serious-looking semiautomatic rifle in her arms. Her new leather jacket and trousers were clearly designed for a trim feminine form and fit much better than the oversized mechanic's denims had. They also had a plentitude of pockets, into which she'd stashed several caches of ammo for the rifle.

 _I feel like I'm playing dress-up for Halloween_ , she thought, meandering through the shantytown of Diamond City in the direction of Valentine's detective agency. _Like I'm some sort of ridiculous urban cowboy. I hope I can remember how to use this thing if – when – I need to._

Valentine's office was marked by a pink neon sign, and she pushed her way through the doors, finding herself in what looked like every private eye's office from every old noir thriller movie she'd ever seen. A ceiling fan whirred lazily above, and the lightbulb flickered sporadically, as if the proprietor was determined to squeeze every last bit of juice from it before acquiescing to its replacement. A messy desk took center stage in the room, covered in dozens of files and folders, and a veil of smoke hung low in the air, so thick that even the fan did little to dissipate the haze.

"Hello?" Jane called out, surveying the empty office. "Anybody home? I'm looking for Nick Valentine."

"Who's asking?" A pretty woman emerged from a back room to the side of the front door, a half-smoked cigarette held casually in her fingers. "Nick's been gone for a while now. I thought everyone in Diamond City knew that. Not like the mayor cares to send anyone out after him, even after everything he's done for this place, the ungrateful son of a bitch."

"Piper Wright sent me here," Jane explained. "She said Nick was the person I needed to see about finding my son."

The woman sighed wearily, a wisp of smoke puffing out of her mouth as she exhaled. "You too? The Institute's really gotten brazen, haven't they?" She gestured to the chair that sat in front of the overloaded desk. "Take a seat, miss. I'll take all your info, and for a down payment of fifty caps, I'll make sure Nick takes up your case as soon as he returns."

"No, you don't understand – I can't wait that long," Jane said. "Piper said you'd know where Nick was headed when he went missing. I need to find him. These people – the Institute, maybe, I don't know – took my baby, and I can't wait for Nick to come back. I need to find him as soon as I can."

The lady fixed Jane with a skeptical but admiring look. "You actually wanna go after Nick? And maybe find out where those bastards took him?" She chuckled, shaking her head. "Honey, that's impressive, and I'm not gonna say I'm not happy that someone actually wants to try to help him, but going after Nick by yourself is suicide. I keep hoping he'll find a way to escape on his own. Nick's real resourceful. Smoke?" She tapped a cigarette out of her pack and offered one to Jane.

"I – sure," Jane said, and she waited while the secretary fished a lighter from her pocket. She hadn't had a cigarette since law school, but it seemed appropriate in Valentine's smoke-filled office. Besides, anything that could get this secretary to open up to her would be worth it.

"I'm Ellie," the secretary said, extending her hand. Jane took it dutifully. "Ellie Perkins. I've been working with Nick for years now. He's a good guy, but I worry about him, you know? He takes these cases so personally sometimes. You'd think it was his friends or family who went missing."

"So, Nick was investigating disappearances linked to the Institute?" Jane said, taking a puff. The smoke burned in her lungs, and she only just managed not to cough.

"Yeah. My guess is they finally caught wind of him and decided to put an end to his poking around. But I'd be willing to bet anything he's still alive. They'll want to find out how much he knows, first."

"So you think they're holding him at the Institute?"

"Oh, good Lord, no," Ellie laughed. "They'd never actually risk any word of the Institute's location getting out. No, they probably hired a merc company to take him and interrogate him. Mercs do what they're told and don't ask questions, as long as they get paid."

"So, where do I find these mercs? Which ones took Valentine?"

Ellie laughed again. "Cool your jets, miss, I'm getting there. Truth is, I don't know which mercs the Institute hired to shut Nick up, but I'm betting you can find out. The trouble is, you'll have to go to their little hideout, and let's just say that they don't take well to outsiders."

"Hideout?" So now she was looking at storming a mercenary compound. It was a good thing she'd decided to pawn her ring for the rifle. "Their base?"

"Well, not as such. There's a neutral ground called the Combat Zone. It's a bar, sort of. All the different groups of raiders and mercs end up there eventually. It's a place for them to trade, talk shop, gossip, barter, what have you – they have strict rules to keep any gang violence outside the doors, and anyone who doesn't respect the rules gets kicked out, or worse. If you're looking to get information about a merc job, that's the best place to ask around. But like I said… raiders don't take kindly to outsiders coming in and sniffing around and asking questions. If you go, tread lightly." She sighed. "Look… it's not like I don't want you to try to find Nick, but he's the last person who'd want anyone to go on a suicide mission for him."

"It's only a suicide mission if I get killed," Jane said. "And I have no intention of dying."

Ellie smirked, and used the stub of her cigarette to light a new one. "Well, you're one brave dame, I'll give you that. But mind what I said, okay? Not too many people, no matter how brave, are keen on waltzing right into a raider stronghold."

"I'll keep that in mind." Ellie knew where the Combat Zone was, and Jane opened her Pip-Boy and keyed the coordinates into the virtual map. A virtual pin plopped down right off Tremont Street – the theater district, Jane noted abstractly. How many other familiar landmarks in Boston had been reappropriated after the bombs fell?

"Hey." Jane turned to find Ellie regarding her with a peculiar look. "You're really serious about this, aren't you? You're really gonna march right into the Combat Zone and demand answers from a pack of raiders?"

"I guess I am," Jane said, stubbing out the remains of her cigarette into the dirty ashtray on the table. "If that's what I have to do to find Valentine, and my son."

"Well, then, good luck and godspeed to you." There was no trace of mirth in Ellie's voice now. "You're gonna need it."


	3. The Combat Zone

Jane held her breath as she gingerly picked her way past the ominously bubbling pool, her Pip-Boy's Geiger counter clicking furiously. She knew that holding her breath had no effect on absorbing radiation, but it was hard to override such a basic human instinct. A strange pile of debris was clustered at the other end of the fetid pond, and as she drew closer, she recognized, despite the chipped paint and broken carvings, the swan boats from the pond.

Boston Common had been one of her favorites places in the city when she'd been a student at Suffolk. On nice days, she'd throw her textbooks in her pack and look for right patch of grass – not too sunny, not too shady – and wile away the afternoon studying. She cut through the park any time she wanted to head down to Newbury for an afternoon of shopping with her friends, or over to Tremont to catch a show in the theater district.

Now, the park was an irradiated wasteland, filled with the detritus of civilization strewn across dying grass. She found she couldn't get out of there fast enough.

She emerged out of the east side of the Common onto Tremont Street, and, checking her Pip-Boy's map again, realized the coordinates Ellie had given her for the Combat Zone put it on the same block as the old Orpheum Theater. How many plays had she seen there as an eager young undergraduate, excited to absorb 'big city culture' for the first time?

 _Stop it. You can't afford to descend into mopey nostalgia every time you see a familiar landmark. The Boston you knew is gone. You need to accept that._

Intermittent gunfire crackled in the background, somewhere behind a block of ruined buildings, and Jane gripped her rifle tighter. She'd remembered how to load the magazine and chamber a round, at least – pulling the trigger would be the easy part. She just hoped she didn't have to deal with a jam, or anything else that would test her rather limited firearm skills.

 _What's wrong with me_? She _should_ be hoping she didn't have to fire the gun at all. But as the distant sound of combat peppered the cool evening air, she knew pacifism was a naïve fantasy – and she couldn't deny that a part of her was excited for a chance to test out her new weapon. Preferably on a scumbag like Jake, someone for whom a violent death had been a long time coming.

Where had that particular bit of bloodlust come from? She couldn't deny that she'd felt a thrill of triumph when she'd managed to overpower and kill Jake, but killing a man in self defense was one thing – wanting to kill a hypothetical person who hadn't yet threatened her was another thing altogether.

 _Focus. Nothing else matters besides finding Shaun._

She rounded the block towards the Orpheum – and froze in place as a bullet cracked above her head, the loud report ringing in her ears. Heart pounding, she saw a man standing behind a makeshift barricade just in front of the theater entrance, aiming a long hunting rifle right at her chest.

"Get out of here. The Combat Zone's for raiders only, and you don't look like no raider I ever seen. Next bullet'll drop you, so move along," he warned. The man's head was shaved, and a savage-looking scar split his face from the right eye down. He reminded her of Jake, and a wave of fear slammed into her, rooting her to the spot, frozen and helpless.

"You deaf, bitch? I said get out!" The raider slammed back the bolt of his rifle, and the spent cartridge clattered to the ground. He steadied the rifle in his arms and aimed down the sights.

A percolating anger bubbled through her, burning through her fear. Heart pounding relentlessly in her chest, she slung the rifle behind her back and advanced towards the raider, hands raised and empty.

"Is this how you greet everyone looking to hire your friends? I wonder if your boss appreciates you scaring off all the customers. Can't be good for business," she bluffed. She hoped she sounded sufficiently sure of herself that he wouldn't recognize the uncertainty in her voice.

"We ain't hiring," the raider growled, though Jane noticed he lowered his rifle a hair. "I said scram."

"That's not what I heard," Jane replied, hoping she wasn't pressing her luck too hard. "I heard that when someone in the Commonwealth needs a job done, they come to the Combat Zone. That there's no shortage of raiders and merc companies willing to take some caps to get their hands dirty. But," she shrugged, "I guess I was mistaken. You can tell your boss how you scared away a paying client. I'm sure he'll appreciate your due diligence." She made a show of turning around and sauntering back towards Tremont Street, hoping her body language conveyed a condescending dismissal rather than adrenaline-driven unease. She knew men like the raider guard, and knew that giving him a fight was what he wanted; but insulting his pride might just do the trick.

"Hey. Wait." Bingo. She turned back to face the raider and rested her hands on her hips, hoping she looked impatient instead of nervous.

"Look, you coming around the corner with a gun, a fella can't be too careful," the raider said, scratching his head. "Allright, c'mon in. But I got my eye on you! Any funny business and I'll waste you myself."

"Everyone has a gun out here, dumbass." She was fairly certain that, at least, was no bluff. "But I'm glad to hear you've come to your senses." She glared at the guard for show as she marched past him and pushed open the theater doors into the 'Combat Zone.'

A cacophony of sounds assaulted her ears as she entered the seedy 'bar.' A couple of dangerous looking men sat across a small card table, a pile of caps in the middle. One of them slammed down a hand of cards triumphantly, eliciting a string of loud expletives from his friend, who grudgingly pushed a further pile of caps into the center of the table. A couple of seedy characters sat at the bar, drinking some rotgut from dirty bottles, their heads turned toward the stage. A further crew of raiders were gathered around the stage, hollering and screaming. She glanced up to the stage to see what all the fuss was about.

A cage had been erected on the remains of the stage, and inside it were a man and a woman. The man, a hulking, bare-chested boulder of knotted muscle and scar tissue, swung a vicious looking club at the woman, who deftly danced out of the way.

"That all you got? I ain't even broke a sweat," the woman taunted. She had an unmistakably Irish accent, a detail which Jane noted with peculiar interest. How did someone from Ireland end up in postapocalyptic Boston?

The man grunted and swung his club again, which Jane now realized was a wrench. The Irish woman again dodged with ease, and, as the man's momentum carried him forward, she darted in close and thrust a small, savage little blade straight into his throat. With a strangled cry, the man crashed forward, his massive body slamming into the arena floor with a shuddering thud. The raiders clustered in front of the ring erupted into raucous noise, some cheering wildly, others bellowing in disappointment. The jeering raiders angrily dug into their pockets and thrust handfuls of caps at their happier compatriots, who continued to roar their approval.

Jane's heart hammered a tattoo in her chest, the vision of the little Irish fighter shoving a blade into her opponent's throat conjuring up vivid memories of her struggle with Jake. Had that really only been a couple of days ago? It seemed so much longer than that. The Irishwoman put her foot on the man's shoulder and rolled him over, exposing his ruined throat with her blade still stuck deep inside. Without hesitation she reached down, grasped the handle of the knife, and pulled it out, then wiped the bloody blade dry on the dead man's trousers. She examined it briefly, as it checking it for damage, then shrugged and slipped it back inside its sheath.

"And that'll be another win for Cait! Today's victory puts her at a whopping thirty-seven, folks! And you know what that means…. she's only two wins away from taking the Combat Zone's all time human victory record, currently held by Paulie 'Pitbull' Perelli!" A grotesque looking man wandered onto the stage, dressed in a shabby old suit and fedora, and holding a microphone. He had no face – his nose and ears had rotted away, and what decaying skin remained was stretched tight over his skeleton. Jane shuddered in horror and looked away.

"A good fight, eh?" A raider – one of the card players, she idly noted – approached her, eyes gleaming with curiosity and suspicion. He seemed to notice Jane's revulsion. "Aw, what's the matter? Ain't never seen a ghoul before? That's just ol' Tommy. He runs the place and keeps us in line. Speaking of which… don't think I've ever seen you in here before."

The raider's words refocused Jane's attention from the cage fight and reminded her why she'd come to the Combat Zone. "That's right," she said. "I have a job I need to get done, and I was told I'd find what I needed here." Well, that wasn't strictly a lie.

"Yeah? Everyone's got a job they need done. You got caps? Otherwise, you might as well save your breath." The raider crossed his arms and frowned impatiently, and Jane realized that her little ruse to get inside was going to come to an abrupt end if she didn't think quickly.

"Nick Valentine," she said. "He's missing. Rumor has it a merc company took him hostage. I need to know who, and where to find him."

The raider frowned, and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. She saw him cast a quick glance to his card-playing friend – enlisting backup? If she'd overplayed her hand, she was badly outnumbered. Unconsciously, her hand drifted towards the strap of her rifle. Would she be fast enough to beat them to the draw if it came down to that – faster than a group of violent mercenaries who handled guns for a living?

"Now see, I'm starting to feel like you lied to me," the raider drawled. Jane noticed in her peripheral vision the other raiders, their celebratory exchange of caps completed, drawing in towards her as well. _Well, shit._ "You told me you were in here for a job. But it sounds to me like you want to talk raider business. That don't sound like a job to me. It sounds like snitching. You wanna know what happens to snitches?" The raider casually reached down to his hip, where a heavy pistol was holstered.

A memory flashed through Jane's mind – Jake, his eye gouged, wallowing on the ground in pain, the knife on his hip unguarded and there for the taking. She'd stood there, frozen in place: torn between taking the knife and cutting his throat right there and then, or making a break for it and trying to escape. She chose the latter, but she'd waited too long – her hesitation had allowed Jake enough time to recover, and he'd caught her, pulled her down. If not for some quick thinking and a considerable amount of luck, she would have died that day, raped and murdered and left out in the street for the dogs. All because she'd hesitated to do what needed to be done.

With a fluid movement that surprised her, Jane slung the rifle from behind her back, brought it to her shoulder, and fired. She didn't take careful aim, but the raider was only feet away – even she couldn't miss, at that distance. The crack of the shot echoed throughout the theater, and the raider, hand frozen halfway to his hip, looked down in astonishment at the red stain spreading rapidly across his chest. With a shocked expression, he gaped at Jane, as if stunned that she'd beaten him to the draw – then fell over, his legs collapsing beneath him, as he crumpled into a heap on the floor.

All hell broke loose.

Jane's only thought was to find cover, and fast – now that the element of surprise was lost, there was no way she'd survive the well-aimed shots of a half-dozen furious mercenaries. She scrambled frantically towards the bar, hoping a stray bullet didn't hit its mark, knowing that as long as she moved, the odds of being hit were much lower. She reached the bar – which, in a chance stroke of luck, was deserted, the two drinking raiders having migrated towards the stage as the fight had gotten under way – and braced her hands on the edge, vaulting up and over. Her heart pounded triple time as she cowered beneath the bar, the staccato peppering of bullets against the wall drowning out the furious bellows of the betrayed raiders. Gripping her rifle tight in anxious hands, Jane realized that she'd the opposite mistake. Instead of damning herself through inaction, she'd been rash and impulsive, and hadn't paused to consider the consequences of taking on an entire bar of armed, trained mercenaries.

A bullet smashed into a liquor bottle above the bar, sending a cascade of glass shards to the floor beside her. She couldn't hide down here forever – eventually the mercs would wise up, make a move on the bar, and pen her in, and then pick her off at their leisure. She had to take them out before they got too close.

"You're dead, bitch!" A voice cried out as more bullets pelleted into the bar. Taking a long, calming breath, she shouldered her rifle, popped up above the bar, and aimed towards the stage, where the largest group of raiders had been. One of them stood about ten feet away, and as he saw her emerge, his face registered first surprise, then a sadistic delight – but then but she fired, and watched in satisfaction as the bullet ripped through his jaw, shattering his face and sending blood and bone spraying across the room.

She ducked swiftly beneath the bar again, lungs heaving, hands shaking. The odds against her hadn't measurably changed – the raiders still had her significantly outnumbered, and it seemed only a matter of time until they cornered her and killed her. A sudden thought of Shaun forced its way into her frantic mind; her baby, crying, squirming in Nate's arms as the men wrenched him away and murdered his father. If she died here, then no one would be left to come for him, and he would be lost to those monsters forever.

With renewed resolve, she popped up above the bar, lowered her head to the iron sights, took a bead on another raider, and pulled the trigger. The bullet ripped through the man's chest, and he dropped like a lead weight. Only three were left now, and suddenly the odds were much more reasonable.

"Shit! Fucking kill her, already!" One of the raiders screamed, and she heard pounding footsteps approaching the bar. She'd just brought her rifle to ready again when a face, twisted in anger, appeared above the bar. She pulled the trigger without pause, blinking as the blood from the man's destroyed face spurted across her. His body collapsed heavily across the bar, and Jane saw an opportunity. Crouching below the dead raider, she steadied her rifle with one arm and braced the other against the man's corpse. Bracing her legs to bear the weight, she rose up, lifting the body with her.

The two remaining raiders fired a fusillade at her, and she ducked behind the raider's dead body, allowing his corpse to absorb the bullets meant for her. From beneath the dead raider, she leaned against the bar, using it as leverage to steady her aim, and picked off the raider who stood nearest the door. Only one left now.

"The fuck… what the fuck, why won't you just die?" The raider screamed, and Jane felt a brief spasm of terror as he charged her, rifle blazing, throwing all caution to the wind. Time slowed to a painful crawl as he barreled towards her, and she was certain she was about to die as he loomed before her at last, gun raised and pointed right at her face.

He pulled the trigger, and she waited, for the longest second of her life, to die. A long pause; her heart hammered a deafening drumbeat in her chest, and she realized, belatedly, that she'd heard not the boom of a bullet fired at point blank range, but a loud, hollow click. The raider's face paled, and he squeezed the trigger again. Click.

"Shit," he breathed, and she realized her triumph in the same moment, as she dropped her human shield and lifted her own rifle.

"Tough luck," she said, and pulled the trigger. The raider's head exploded and he dropped to the floor, dead. An eerie silence settled over the bar, and all she could hear was the pounding of her own heart.

Heat blazed up her arm, and she looked down to see a stream of blood leaking from her arm. When had she been shot? She had no active recollection of taking a bullet – perhaps the adrenaline that had fueled her bloodlust had also dampened the pain of her injury. It throbbed now, a dull, blunted pain – though she knew, as the rush of battle faded, that she would soon feel the pain much more acutely. Still – a bullet in the arm in exchange for six dead raiders seemed a fair bargain to her.

Gingerly, she stepped out from behind the bar, her heart still pounding as the rush of battle worked its way through her system. She surveyed the corpses of the men who'd just been trying to kill her, and her only thought was to idly wonder if they had anything useful in their pockets. She did not dwell overlong on the significance of such thoughts; her pulse was racing too fast, and her blood was too hot. Once again, she felt the giddy elation of victory thrumming though her veins.

"Holy shit!" A throaty voice moaned, and she immediately hefted her rifle to her shoulder again. "Holy shit, my bar! It's ruined! What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

The freakishly faceless man – Tommy, her memory supplied – wandered around the wreckage of the Combat Zone, wringing his hat in his hands. She couldn't read his expression – she had trouble looking at his ghastly face for too long – but he was clearly distraught, and didn't seem to be a threat. Lowering her rifle a hair, she approached him.

"You're the owner?" she said, and he looked up at her. Whatever had happened to his face hadn't affected his eyes – he looked up at her with an indignant expression.

"I was!" he said, his voice sounding hoarse and strained. "Until you decided to swagger in and massacre all my customers!" He threw his hands into the air, tossing his hat to the ground in disgust. "I'm ruined! Ruined! As soon as word of this gets out, no raider or merc will set foot in here ever again. How the hell am I supposed to make a living now? You've ruined me." He wandered back over to the edge of the stage and sat, sagging, his head in his hands.

Jane's eyes traveled to the cage, just behind Tommy. She noted with alarm that the Irish fighter was still locked inside. Her tousled red hair was matted with sweat and her eyebrows were furrowed in an expression of mild interest, as though the gunplay that had erupted through the bar had entertained rather than alarmed her.

 _They paid to watch her fight to the death, and in the end, she got to watch them die._ It seemed fitting, and Jane found that she shared the fighter's wry amusement. Tommy continued to moan loudly, and Jane's irritation began to mount – surely he couldn't be surprised that violence had broken out in a bar that catered to violent marauders – but she realized that if she was going to get any useful information out of the Combat Zone now, it would be from him.

"I came here looking for Nick Valentine," she said without prelude. "I was told he was kidnapped by a merc group, and that this would be the best place to start looking for him. I imagine you've heard your share of business talk from these scumbags. Do you know which group took Valentine, and where I can find them?"

Tommy looked up at Jane with an irate glare. "Even if I did, why the hell would I tell you? You just ruined my bar. I'm really supposed to give you a helping hand after you destroy my livelihood? Just go away. You've done enough already." Tommy buried his head in his hands again and continued to moan.

Anger surged through Jane, and she tightened her grip on her rifle. She'd just killed a bar full of thugs – thugs who had threatened _her_ first! She hadn't picked a fight. She hadn't decided to end the day with bloodshed. That had been the raiders' doing – Tommy's 'customers.' He ran a bar that catered to violent brutes and was surprised that someone hadn't quietly acquiesced to being killed? She'd come all this way… done so much already… and she was not walking out of this bar without answers.

"Listen, asshole. Your fucking friends almost got me killed, so the least you can do is answer my questions," she said, pointing her rifle at Tommy. "I'm tired, I'm angry, and I'm not leaving here without answers. How much I have to hurt you before I get them is up to you. Who took Nick Valentine, and where did they take him?"

She heard a smothered snicker, and looked up in surprise to see the Irish girl laughing, her eyes dancing with mirth. Tommy's eyes popped wide with alarm, and he raised his hands in the air. "Whoa whoa whoa!" he said, raising his hands. "Jesus! There's no need for that! I'll tell you what you want to know, just… put that thing down! Christ! It's not like I don't know you mean business, after everything you did here." Wiping his forehead with his sleeve, Tommy sighed dejectedly.

"The Triggermen took Valentine," he said. "They're a weird outfit, run out of the old Park Street subway station on the edge of the Common. I heard one of their lieutenants bragging about how he'd bagged some big Diamond City game, that Valentine was worth a lot of caps to his employer. And no, before you ask, I have no idea who hired the Triggermen, or why. Dino wasn't stupid enough to talk about that in public." Tommy shook his head. "But if they've still got Valentine, he'll be in the Park Street station, wherever they keep their prisoners. If you need to find him, you'll find him there. Good luck getting past all their defenses, though. The Triggermen ain't some amateur outfit. They know what they're doing."

So now she had a name, and a location. It was something, and hopefully it would be enough. Jane felt some of the anger dissipate as she watched Tommy sink his head back into his hands. She lowered her gun.

"Hey, thanks. I appreciate it," she said. He looked up at her and scoffed.

"Ain't like you gave me much of a choice, is it?" he said sarcastically. "Go on. Go find Valentine. Just leave me alone to rebuild my life."

Jane surveyed the ruin of the bar, her energy waning rapidly as the adrenaline rush faded. It was too late to mount another armed assault, especially on a target guaranteed to be much more hostile and heavily-defended than the Combat Zone. She'd need to head back to Diamond City, find a room, and get some rest before she even thought about attacking the Triggermen's hideout.

Her eyes again lit upon the Irish fighter, lounging against the cage bars. "Hey," she said to Tommy. "You just gonna leave her locked in there all night?"

"What's it to you?" the girl said, eyeing Jane suspiciously. "Tommy's right. Now there ain't gonna be money comin' through here at all, thanks to you. You've done enough. Go rescue your damsel in distress, why dontcha?"

Jane frowned, stung by the fighter's defensive tone. "Oh, I'm sorry, did you want to stay in there with the corpse of the man you killed? My apologies."

"Ah, shit," Tommy said, clambering up onto the stage. He fished in his pocket for a key and unlocked the cage door. "Don't mind Cait. She got an attitude with everyone."

"Go fuck yourself, Tommy," Cait spat, sauntering out of the cage. "Happy now? Good, go find someone else's day to ruin. I gotta get a fix. I'm hurtin' bad."

"Cait, dammit, we talked about this!" Tommy growled. "You said no more Psycho! You promised me a week ago!"

"Yeah? Maybe I did," Cait said carelessly. "That was before Princess over here ruined our business. Don't look like I'll be fightin' again anytime soon, does it? What do you care if I find another way to pass the time?"

"Because you're going to kill yourself, goddammit!" Tommy said. "I'm not gonna sit here and watch you commit suicide right in front of me."

"Aww, you do care. So sweet," Cait said sarcastically. She seemed to notice that Jane was still standing there, observing the encounter with mounting curiosity. Cait frowned at her. "What the hell are you still doin' here?"

"Hey!" Tommy exclaimed, as if an idea had just occurred to him. "Listen, there's something you can do for me. And it's really the least you owe me, after what you did to my bar."

Jane frowned, not sure she wanted to take on any 'favors' for a shady bar owner who consorted with raiders. "This had better be good," she said.

"Well, I got no bar anymore, which means no one's gonna be paying to watch Cait fight. That means I can't afford her contract, so I was thinking, maybe you want to take it over?"

"Contract?" A creeping sense of apprehension crept into Jane's gut. "What kind of contract are we talking about, exactly?"

"Wait, Tommy, what are you talkin' about?" Cait exclaimed. "You can't sell me to her! You got no right –"

"I got every right!" Tommy said. "I bought your contract fair and square, and that contract says you owe me three years of fighting. Well, ain't gonna be no fighting here for a while, so I gotta get something out of the rest of the time you owe me." He turned towards Jane. "How about this. You buy out the rest of Cait's contract, and her services are yours. That gives me a chance to start rebuilding my bar. What do you say? It's a great deal. You saw how Cait is in a fight. It's a hard world out there. You can handle yourself, but fighting a half-dozen drunk raiders is a whole different ballgame from taking on a heavily-armed merc base. You're gonna need all the help you can get. So, how about it?"

"Don't I get a say in this?" Cait shrilled. Tommy paid her no attention, and Jane felt the creeping disquiet crawling through her gut again.

"Wait – she's a _slave_?" Jane said, appalled. "I'm not buying a slave! That's despicable!"

"Nah, nah, it ain't like that, exactly," Tommy waved his hand. "I mean, she gets paid, and it's just a temporary contract. Three years, that's it. But look, I paid for three years, and I only got nineteen months, because of you. It's only right if you recompense me for my losses."

"'Recompense you for your losses'?" Jane sneered. "She's not a piece of property! This is disgusting!"

"Look, lady, I don't really care what you think," Tommy shot. "You ruined my bar. I got nothing for Cait to do. You need muscle in the wasteland. It's better for all of us if she goes with you, allright?"

Cait rounded on Tommy, and Jane detected a note of fear in her eyes for the first time. "I ain't being sold again, Tommy. I told you I was done with that shit –"

"Calm down, Cait," he said reassuringly. "This dame ain't no raider. It ain't gonna be like that again. You just help her fight, and you get out of this place. Maybe get clean. You know? Think of it as an opportunity."

Cait opened her mouth, as if she wanted to argue, but instead heaved an angry sigh.

"Fine," she snapped. "But if she tries to sell me, I'm killing her. I ain't _ever_ going back to the raiders, God as my witness."

"I'm not selling anyone to raiders!" Jane said, growing more aghast by the minute. "I haven't even agreed to… buy… your contract!" She turned to Tommy. "Look, honestly, I don't even have any money –"

Tommy shrugged, and gestured towards the dead raiders. "Bet they did," he said ruefully. "I'm sure you can scrape up enough. And look – take care of Cait, okay? I don't want anything to happen to her out there."

"Ain't you a real peach, Tommy," Cait muttered. She looked up at Jane, and their eyes met. Cait's were a bright grey-green, and they blazed with anger. "So. I guess I got no choice but to go with you. Tommy's kicking me out either way, looks like. So I'll help you go get this Valentine, and you'll leave me the fuck alone. Deal?" Cait sauntered past her, and began to casually rifle through the pockets of the dead raiders. She hooted in glee as she pulled out a little tin that turned out to be full of caps.

"Here," she said, tossing the tin to Tommy. "There's my contract. Now we're done."

"Sure," he said, and Jane detected a sadness in his voice that sounded surprisingly genuine. "Take care of yourself out there, Cait." He turned to Jane. "Don't treat her bad. She's an asshole, but she don't mean it, most of the time."

"Hey!"

"I hope you find your guy," Tommy continued. Jane saw that Cait was pilfering the rest of the dead raiders; there was nothing else for her to do here. It was time to go back to Diamond City, get some rest, and start planning how the attack on Park Street would go down.

And start getting to know this belligerent Irish fighter, and figure out whether her use in a fight would be worth the trouble of putting up with her.

"Thanks," Jane said. She turned to Cait, who was examining a syringe, clearly retrieved from a dead raider's pocket. She slipped it into her own pocket, covertly, as if hoping neither Jane nor Tommy would notice.

"So," Jane said. She assumed the syringe contained a drug of some kind, and she resolved to confront Cait about it later. "Are you ready to head back to Diamond City?"

"Diamond City?" Cait frowned. "Those self-righteous twats? Last time I was there, they kicked me out. Said they didn't like fightin' in their bar. I said, what's the point of a bar besides drinkin' and fightin'?" She shrugged, tossing a careless look over her shoulder as she headed towards the door. "But whatever you say, darlin'. You're the boss. As long as I can get a stiff drink later, I'm good to go." Cait shoved open the doors, and Jane followed, torn between anger and annoyance as she realized her mission to find Shaun had just gotten a hell of a lot more complicated.


	4. Unlucky Valentine

The sun streamed gaily through the window as Jane stood before the armoire in her underclothes, pondering what to wear. It was a sunny, pleasant day, unseasonably warm for late October; there was no need to bundle herself under layers of winter clothing yet. Her eyes caught on a simple empire-waisted skirt; yes, that would do nicely. She should wear it one more time while she still could, before the brittle chill of another New England autumn set in.

She selected a matching blouse and shimmied into the skirt, sliding it up and over her slender hips. She'd finally managed to lose most of the baby weight, thank goodness – she really hadn't wanted to buy a new winter wardrobe, and she was grateful she could fit into her old clothes again. She had just finished buttoning her blouse when a thin, reedy wail split the still air, and she instinctively turned towards the door, already in motion. It had amazed her how quickly she'd become conditioned to respond to Shaun's cries.

"Mama's coming, sweetie," she called out into the hallway as she made her way towards Shaun's room. "I'm right here –" Her words died in her throat as she entered the room and saw a one-armed man standing beside Shaun's crib, his back turned to her, looming menacingly over her wailing baby.

"Cute kid," Jake said, and turned around to greet her with a smile. Blood leaked from his gouged eye and his shattered nose, dripping rhythmically onto the floor in a muted patter. "What's his name? You really shouldn't leave him alone like this, you know. Bad things happen to kids whose mothers don't take care of them."

A primal scream ripped from Jane's throat and she launched herself at Jake. "Get away from my baby!" she roared, crashing into him and sending them both tumbling to the floor. Shaun's cries reached a deafening crescendo as Jane struggled against the raider, his laughter a wheezing gurgle as it rattled through his ruined throat.

"You're dead!" she screamed, clawing at Jake's bloody face. "You're dead! I killed you!" He laughed louder, and slowly licked his blood-flecked lips.

"You can't kill me," he mocked, and shoved her off him and onto the floor. "Not until I finish what I started." He mounted her and pinned her beneath his body, mouth open in a lewd gawping grin. "I'm gonna make your husband watch while I fuck you. You're _my_ whore now." Shaun continued to bawl as Jake pressed against her, the blood from his ruined eye dripping onto her face. He leaned down and dragged his tongue against her cheek, and with a frantic hand she grabbed a fistful of his hair and wrenched him off of her, throwing him to the floor.

"No!" she screamed. "You're dead!" She slammed his head against the floor and heard his skull crack. "You're dead! You're dead! I killed you! You're dead!" She slammed his head again and again until it crunched wetly against the floor, and she looked down at last to see a pool of dark blood spreading from beneath his shattered skull. His vulgar grin leered up at her in a rictus of death, and as the haze cleared, she heard Shaun's choking cries, and a tremendous sense of panic gripped her. How had this monster gotten in Shaun's room? Where was –

"Nate!" she screamed. "Nate, help!"

"Honey?" Nate's voice filled her with an overpowering sense of relief as he burst into the room, his eyes widening in alarm as he took in the gruesome scene. "Oh my God, what happened? Shaun –"

"He's okay," she managed breathlessly, her eyes darting down to her hands, covered in Jake's blood. "He's okay. How did this man get in our house? Oh God…"

"I've got him, Hon, don't worry, I've got him." Nate walked over to the crib and picked up Shaun, cradling their wailing child in his arms. He bounced lightly up and down and patted Shaun gently on the back, his voice soft and soothing.

"Hey, buddy, it's okay now. It's okay now. Daddy's got you. It's okay. Shhhh, it's okay."

Jane stared down at her hands as Jake's blood began to dry, forming a crusty layer of sticky dark-red gore. She should go to Shaun – she should go to her baby – but how could she hold him with so much blood on her hands?

Heavy footsteps clattered against the floor, and Jane's head snapped up as men in heavy white hazmat suits stomped into the room, trailed by a balding, scarred man in a leather jacket. Nate frowned at them in bewildered confusion.

"What are you doing in my house? Who are –" His words died on his tongue as one of the hazmat-suited men abruptly grabbed Shaun and wrenched him out of Nate's arms. Jane screamed and tried to rise but found she was frozen in place, her muscles straining against an impotent paralysis.

"No!" Nate bellowed, his arms reaching out for the man. "Give him back –"

Without a word, the bald man lifted his pistol and shot Nate point blank in the chest. He turned to the hazmat-suited men, one of whom held a howling Shaun awkwardly in his arms.

"We've got what we came for," the bald man said dispassionately. "Let's go." The men turned and walked out of the room.

"No!" Jane cried, and at once her paralysis was lifted; she lurched forward, scrabbling on her hands and knees until she reached Nate's prone body. "No, no no no no, no, not again…" Cradling her husband's lifeless body in her arms, she looked wildly to the door, but there was no trace of the men who had intruded, who had murdered her husband and taken her baby.

"Shaun!" she cried out, but of course, there was no response. The house was as silent as a grave. "Shaun!"

"Shaun!" Jane's eyes snapped open in a panic and she bolted upright, her heart hammering a frantic drumbeat in his chest. Her eyes flickered wildly across the room as reality slowly reassembled itself around her. Dingy, peeling wallpaper, illuminated dimly by the lights from the city that streamed in through the window – no, not the city, the stadium. She was in Fenway Park – or Diamond City, rather – in a rented room. She'd been sleeping. The Irish girl was in the other room, and tomorrow they'd begin their search for –

"Shaun," she whispered softly, and she closed her eyes against the hot tears that slipped down her cheeks unbidden. Sometimes it all seemed like a terrible dream, like the one from which she'd just awoken, but it was all too real – the bombs had fallen, her home and country were destroyed, her husband was dead, and her baby was gone. No nightmare could possibly equal the horrible truth.

Shaking, Jane rose from the bed, tossing on her shirt and trousers. Her mouth was dry and cracked and she desperately needed a drink. She pushed open the door of her bedroom and made her way towards the kitchen, vaguely recalling a half-empty bottle of whiskey that the Irish girl had indiscreetly swiped from a table in the Combat Zone. If she was lucky, there'd be a little left.

The common area was shadowy and deserted, and Jane sighed in relief as she spotted the bottle on the kitchen table. With trembling hands she grasped the bottle by the neck and took a long, satisfying pull, her eyes watering as the whiskey burned down her throat and soothed her jittery nerves. She drank until she had to come up for air, spluttering and coughing as the rush of the liquor coursed through her blood. Glancing at the bottle in her hand, she realized she'd nearly finished it off.

A pleasant wooziness settled across her like a blanket, and she closed her eyes in mute relief as the shaking that had overtaken her upon waking from the nightmare subsided. Perhaps now she could fall into the dull, dreamless sleep of intoxication, and chase away the nightmares for a few precious hours.

She staggered uneasily against the table as the liquor worked its way into her brain, disrupting her equilibrium and sending the room spinning around her. With a sluggish shake of her head, Jane impatiently brushed her sleep-tangled hair from her face and began, with heavy, clomping steps, to make her way uneasily back to her bedroom, when she heard a clattering racket from behind a closed door. Her alcohol-dimmed senses spurred to alarm, she glanced around wildly for a weapon – there, the bottle, on the table. That would do. She wrapped her hand around the neck of the bottle and crept cautiously towards the door, heart hammering, muzzy-headed intoxication burned away by adrenaline. If another raider thug had managed to find his way in here, she'd take care of him like she had all the others –

Throwing open the door, she raised the bottle, ready to strike, only to find herself eye to startled eye with the Irish girl, who perched, fully clothed, on the edge of a broken bathtub. Her sleeves were rolled up – no, only one sleeve – and a filthy rag was tied tightly around her upper arm. Her other hand held a needle tight against the crook of her exposed elbow. Her eyes snapping wide in alarm, she yanked the needle hastily from her arm, leaving a bloody welt behind.

"The bloody fuck are you doing in here? Can't you see the door's closed?" Cait snapped, her face flushed and eyes darting furtively.

"Cait?" Jane squinted her eyes, her brain at first refusing to make sense of the picture before her as her heart continued to pound in exhilarated anticipation of a fight.

"Get out! I got my right to privacy, especially in the goddamn shitter!" Cait's expression hardened into an angry glare, and as she discreetly tossed the needle away from her onto the floor, the pieces fell into place in Jane's mind, and her eyes again returned to the bleeding pinprick left behind by the needle in Cait's arm. She saw now that there were several similar marks, all scarred or scabbed over. Dimly she recalled something Tommy had said earlier that day in the Combat Zone, something about "psycho" and Cait needing to get clean.

"Are you doing – " Not drugs – what was the wasteland word again? "– chems? Psycho? Is that what that is?"

"Got a real genius one here," Cait sneered. "What was your first clue? The needle? The track marks? A top sleuth, you are. Now get out."

"I came in here because I heard some kind of ungodly racket and I thought a raider had broken in," Jane shot back. "You're lucky I didn't break this bottle across your head." Her eyes darted to the discarded needle. "What the hell is 'psycho,' anyway? What are you doing to yourself?"

"A raider, in Diamond City? Please. Don't lie to me. You knew I was shooting up and you wanted to barge in here, all high and mighty, and get in my face about it, didn't you? Well, I'll tell you what I told Tommy – fuck off. It ain't your business."

"I didn't – " But Jane realized that any continuing insistence that she really hadn't meant to intrude on Cait's privacy would fall on deaf ears. Her own anger began to percolate in response to Cait's belligerence. "You know what? It _is_ my business. You're supposed to be fighting beside me, aren't you? How the hell am I supposed to be able to trust you if you're high as a kite?"

"Oh, that's rich, coming from someone drunk enough to imagine a raider had snuck into the loo," Cait scoffed. "Don't bother denying it. I can smell the whiskey on you from here. We've all got our poison, don't we, sweetheart? You go enjoy yours and I'll enjoy mine."

"I'm not drunk," Jane protested, even as she knew that wasn't true.

"And I'm not a junkie," Cait retorted. "There: now we're both liars. Listen to me, and listen to me real close." Cait took a step closer to Jane so that her face was only inches away. Jane found herself noticing for the first time the smattering of freckles dusted across Cait's defined cheekbones. "You don't own me. You're not my master. You don't get to tell me what to do. I came with you because there was nothin' for me with Tommy anymore, and because it seems like trouble follows you around, and if there's anything I like better than a fix, it's a fight. But that don't mean I'm gonna follow your orders like a dog at your heels."

"Then go," Jane challenged. "You're right – I don't own you, and I'm not your master. I made that perfectly clear to Tommy. If you want to leave, I won't stop you."

Cait narrowed her eyes, and Jane could see, in the stony set of her face, that she was seriously considering the offer. But then her sternly furrowed brows relaxed, if only slightly, and she took a step back. "Ain't like I got anywhere to go, is it?" She tossed her shoulders in a careless shrug.

Jane's irritation ebbed away as she considered Cait's affected nonchalance. Perhaps she recognized a shared sense of isolation, of being alone and forced to look out for herself in a hostile, violent world. Perhaps she understood Cait's need to shut away the pain of a broken life more than she was willing to admit out loud. Or perhaps she was just drunk and exhausted and in desperate need of untroubled rest.

"Look," Jane said, running her hand anxiously through her hair. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude on you. I don't –"

"Don't worry about it," Cait said briskly. "We'll get up in the morning and go find your sweetheart, and then you'll go your way and I'll go mine."

Jane found herself wanting to argue, to correct Cait's misconception, but when she contemplated the full scope of the truth she would have to share – of telling Cait about the Vault, about Nate, about Shaun – a heavy weight descended on her, and she could not find the energy.

"Fine," she retorted. The word came out more brittle and brusque than Jane had intended, but, as Cait stood there, eyeing her with a mixture of trepidation and irritation, she was possessed of a sudden need to retreat to her own rented room and rickety bed and seek what little restless sleep she could find.

The bed was hard and her thoughts were troubled, and they tumbled one over another as she lay on her back, her mind replaying the encounter with Cait, the vision of the fighter perched on the side of the bathtub with a needle in her arm refusing to leave Jane's head. There was a fragility to the whole sad scene that she'd been unable to recognize through the haze of her adrenaline – the tough, trash-talking fighter, devil-may-care and brashly confident, hiding her addiction behind a closed door, eyes shut tight against the flood of chems rushing into her blood, her arm scarred from self-inflicted wounds.

Not for the first time, Jane wished she had never woken from her centuries-long sleep – this world was too terrible, too brutal, and she did not belong in it. But she'd imagined that such despair was foreign to those who had been born into it – that because they had not known the world as it had been, they could not mourn the loss of a beauty they'd never seen. But she saw now that she was wrong – the wasteland was as unforgiving and hostile to its natives as it was to her, and Cait was proof enough of that.

She thought of Nate, but a strange emotion intruded on her grief – she found herself envious of him, his frozen body resting in the eternal mausoleum of Vault 111, never knowing of the horrors that awaited in the world above. Why couldn't she have died with him that day? Why hadn't the scarred man killed her too? She wished he had. She wished she were dead with Nate.

But if she were dead… who would rescue Shaun? Who would save him from whatever fate his captors had in store for him – his captors, who were the kinds of men who would murder a man in cold blood after ripping his baby from his arms? What manner of monsters had taken her baby, and what horrible things did they mean to do to him?

She had to stay strong. She had to keep fighting. She _had_ to. For Shaun. And if Cait, a belligerent and broken junkie pit fighter, could help her at all, who was she to turn up her nose and judge a woman who had survived life in this hellhole?

She tossed and turned fitfully, images of Nate and Shaun flitting through her mind, interspersed with the persistent memory of Cait on the bathtub, her eyes filled with surprise, anger, and – fear. She drifted off on an uneasy tide, frightened of what her dreams would hold, but the nightmares did not return.

* * *

The next day began uneasily, with Jane and Cait exchanging few words as they left the small rented flat. Jane wanted to initiate a conversation – to apologize for the conflict from the night before – but every time she found an opening, a brief glance at Cait's grim-set features made her think twice. She stifled a vexed sigh as she slung her rifle across her shoulder and returned the room key to the odd little Russian man who ran the inn. Perhaps Cait was right – they should concentrate on the job at hand, find this Valentine and find out what he knew, and then go their separate ways. With luck, Valentine would be able to find out who had taken Shaun, and where; once she had him back, she could leave this miserable place…

… _and go where?_ her mind mutinously supplied. Was there anywhere in the world that wasn't ashes and ruin? How could she possibly hope to raise Shaun in a wasteland?

 _Stop it. One thing at a time_ , she sternly told herself. She would cross that bridge when she came to it.

A cacophony of raised voices grabbed her attention, and she caught Cait's eye. For the first time that morning, Cait's flinty expression softened, and she smiled crookedly.

"Wonder what all the fuss is about? Jilted lover?"

"I think we're about to find out," Jane said as they made their way into Diamond City's main thoroughfare. A gaggle of armed security guards surrounded two men. One held a gun pointed at the other, who trembled in fear.

"What did you do with my brother?" the man with the gun screamed, his hands shaking as he brandished the weapon.

"Stand down, citizen!" one of the guards yelled, aiming his own weapon at the armed man.

"Jesus, Kyle, it's _me_! Can't you recognize me?" The unarmed man held his hands in the air, staring in disbelieving fear at the other man.

"Fuck you," Kyle spat. "That's always what they say. 'Don't you recognize me?' Yeah, I recognize that you're _not Riley_!"

"I repeat: stand down!" The guard raised his pistol, taking aim at Kyle's head.

"You're really gonna shoot me? Me?" Kyle spluttered, glaring wild-eyed at the guards. "The fucking Institute killed my brother and replaced him with this bucket of bolts, and _I'm_ the bad guy here? Fuck you! Fuck all of you!"

"Kyle, I swear to God, it's me!" Riley insisted, eyes wide and pleading. "I wasn't kidnapped by the Institute. I'm me, the same as I've always been. Why won't you believe me?"

Jane watched the scene unfold with mounting dread. Piper had told her about the paranoia that gripped Diamond City, about the Institute kidnapping people and replacing them with synth replicants. But was it true this time? Riley didn't seem to be threatening anyone. But if synths looked like people, and were programmed to blend into human society….

 _My God. And these are the people who might have Shaun_.

"Fuck you, synth," Kyle gritted, and took aim at Riley's head. Before he could pull the trigger, the guard opened fire, and bullets ripped through Kyle's body, dropping him lifelessly to the ground. Riley stood, frozen, his face a mask of horror and remorse.

"Oh God, Kyle…" he whispered, bending down to his brother's body. "Kyle, you idiot, why wouldn't you listen?"

The guards began to disperse, and Jane stared at the scene for several long moments, before she caught a glimpse of Cait out of the corner of her eye.

"Bad business," Cait said. "Do you reckon he really is a synth?"

"I don't know," Jane said. "How can you tell?"

"You can't," Cait replied. "That's the whole problem, isn't it? Anyone walkin' around might be a synth." She narrowed her eyes. "Hey, come to think of it, how do I know you ain't a synth? You just show up in Tommy's club out of nowhere, looking like you don't know which way to hold a rifle, then you put down every merc in the place. And I did some thinkin'. You got airs, like you're from Diamond City, but I've seen the way you walk through the streets, looking around you all the time, like you don't know where you're going. You had to rent a room last night instead of staying at your own place. So you ain't a local." Her hand drifted down to the pistol at her hip. "So maybe it's time you told me who and what you really are? What are you really doing here?"

Jane opened her mouth to offer up a retort, but thought better of it, sighed, and pinched the bridge of her nose. After the scene they'd just witnessed, she could hardly blame Cait for her suspicion.

"I'm not a synth. You saw me bleed," she said, touching the bandaged wound on her arm where the raider's bullet had grazed her in the Combat Zone. "Synths don't bleed. Or at least, that's what I've been told. Under the skin, it's all machine parts, circuits and wires."

"Hmph." Cait grunted, but appeared to accept Jane's defense at face value – although Jane wasn't exactly sure if it was true. _Could_ synths bleed? The one who'd attacked Diamond City years ago, according to Piper, hadn't, but what if the prototypes were more advanced now? She shuddered to imagine that anyone she met could be an android spy for the mysterious and sinister Institute.

"Fine, but even if you're not a synth, that don't answer the rest of my questions," she said. "I thought you were some Diamond City toff, but you're not, that much is clear. So what's your story, princess? Why do you want to find this Valentine so much that you're willing to break into a heavily armed merc base? What's he to you?"

Thoughts of her family rose to the surface, and Jane closed her eyes against the pain that every memory of them brought. "What happened to 'you go your way and I go mine?'" she said. After waking up to yet another reminder of the violence and depravity of the wasteland, she wasn't sure she had it in her to relive Nate's murder and Shaun's abduction yet again. "I thought you didn't want to know anything about me."

"Maybe I just want to know what I'm getting myself into," Cait said. "Or maybe your whole grim and mysterious act actually pricked my interest. Does it matter? What's such a secret that you can't tell me why I'm about to put my ass on the line for you?"

Jane's eyes trailed over to Riley, still kneeling over Kyle's body. What did the Institute do with the people it kidnapped? Were they murdered, once their replacement synth had been planted in their place? Imprisoned? Forced into slave labor, or subjected to horrific experimentation?

"Someone took my son," she said quietly. "A man murdered my husband and kidnapped my son. He's just a baby, and those monsters have him, and I have to get him back."

"Oh." Jane could tell that whatever Cait had been expecting her to say, it hadn't been that. "That's… that's a rough one. I'm sorry." The fighter cast a glance over at the two brothers. "Do you think it was the Institute? Who took your son, I mean?"

"I don't know," Jane admitted. "That's why I'm looking for Nick Valentine. He's apparently the only person in Diamond City who's been trying to track down all the missing people around here. If anyone could help me find out who took Shaun, it's him."

"You heard Tommy," Cait said. "If he's been taken by the Triggermen, that means someone paid good money to get him. I know a little about their outfit – the Triggermen don't work for cheap. Whoever wanted your Valentine gone has deep pockets, and it must have been worth a lot to them to make sure word of those missing people didn't get out."

Someone with deep pockets. Jane was a stranger to the wasteland, and she couldn't pretend to know much about the people and power structures – such as they were – that had arisen in the centuries after the fall, but one word, one apparently all-powerful and malevolent organization, kept cropping up. It seemed all roads led to the Institute.

"Well, I don't care how deep their pockets are," Jane said. "They took my baby, and I will take him back."

Even if she had to knock down the Institute's door herself.

* * *

 **A/N: My apologies for the long wait for this chapter - holidays and travel conspired with a reluctant muse and another ongoing fic project to delay this update, but I promise I will do my best to get Chapter 5 out to you much sooner. Thank you to all those who have reviewed, favorited, and followed this story - I can't really express enough how much it means to know that others are enjoying this story.**


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